Konahrik
by ShadowUmbra
Summary: Chosen by the World Eater himself, a young girl is branded as the head of his council. Loyal to her dragon overlord, she must learn to survive the Priests she governs and the one she can never have. ((Possibly Miraak/OC but not really, just my semi-sane ramblings I call a story))
1. Chapter 1

_**Note: **some facts may be twisted but they are so for a more grand purpose._

_**Setting: **starting this sometime around when Bromunjaar is close to finished being built. The most noted Dragon Priests are just gaining the height of their power towers (Morokei, Krosis, Nahkriin, Rahgot, Havnovaal*, Otar and Volsung).  
><em>

**_Updates:_**_ On Fridays when finished, meaning updates will be oddly spaced._

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><p><strong><em>The wolves will chase you by the pale moonlight,<em>**

**_Drunk and driven by a devilish hunger._**

**_- Bottom Of the River_**

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><p>A throne of antlers, she sits, watching her court squabble amongst themselves. She yawns, fingers stretching languidly over her lips as she crosses her right leg over her left; her armor clinks loudly as she does so but no one seems to notice, too caught up in themselves.<p>

"Petty," she murmurs, snatching a goblet from a platter to her left.

The servant holding aforementioned platter flinches as she does so and that causes her to cackle madly. Her court now silenced, they watch as she chortlrs away, spilling red liquid onto the stone in front of her throne; red droplets catch around her knees. When she notices the silence in the grand hall, a fixed flare clears the room.

A sigh leaves her lips and she places the goblet back on the platter, standing from her throne. She grabs her sword from where it is leant against the side of her seat, the chilled blade exposed to the braziers scattered around the room, sending specks of blue against the walls.

Stahlrim*, as hard as a dragons hide and colder than death.

She cradles the blade in her hands for a moment, peering down at it almost lovingly. A joyous cacophany of noises fills her ears: her mothers laughter, a child's praise, the snap of a bowstring from the moment she was first taught to wield such a weapon...by the very same man that brought her this far.

She stops her thoughts, clenching the hilt of her sword tightly before storming from her throne room.

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><p><em>"And so he brought the War Lord down on Skyrim, like a puppet master with a favored doll. And she did his will, bringing a mighty hammer to the world in the name of her king and the World Eater, Alduin.<em>

_Lorolei of Village Skaal. Konahrik."_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Posting this at 2:30 a.m., I hate to admit I might be seeing a pattern.**_

_**A big thank you to the Guest, Vokun and The SilenceIsVast for your reviews. I'm glad you all like it, and yes I know the chapters need to be longer than that but ya know, it was a preface. Didn't need to be long.**_

_**The first part picks up where the last chapter ends and after the next line break, it goes to when she is first summoned. You'll see what I mean if you don't understand.**_

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><p>How amazing it felt, to walk with one's head held so high. Sure, she had never been the most mild-mannered girl, but <em>this <em>kind of power was never granted to her.

Well, until now obviously.

Chin held high, she pushed open the doors to the Thoroughfare, skipping up the steps with her sword bouncing against her hip. As she passed, metal gates closed behind her, a precaution with the recent raid that made it into the sanctum. Thus proving that sometimes the impossible is...possible.

Entering upon a large room that echoed back the crackle of the fires in their braziers, the young Priestess paused, watching in sorrow as slave workers hoisted new coffins onto wooden prongs hammered into the stone wall. She looked to her right, seeing a gathering of twenty-three crudely cut grave markers and sighed, rubbing her forehead; they were losing more and more people everyday.

"Konahrik," a gravely voice echoed in her ear. "Stressed again?"

She looked over her shoulder to her court advisor, Marcus. He was dressed in his ceremonial blue robes, the hems lined in a soft fabric soaked with red wine. She smiled and followed beside him past the graves.

"Yes," she stepped out of the way of a frantic steward, chuckling as the young Nord tripped over the edge of her gown. "If we don't get this virus in check soon, I fear we will have to call off the banquet."

"You worry about beasts that only see you in your bed."

The woman cackled. "A-As if I would crawl between their sheets!"

Marcus smiled. "I do not believe you would do so myself, but they see your place either there or in their kitchens. They see you nothing more than a naive young woman in over her head."

She - now named Konahrik - huffed, pausing while four slave workers grabbed the handles of a large, carved door and heaves the two panels open. "I do not care about their opinions and notions," she sighed. "I was chosen by Alduin himself, I am better than all of them."

She pauses in honest marvel as they pass the threshold of the Grand Hall, the magnificence of this place never ceasing to amaze her. The ceiling is too high to see, two thick cliffs of stone leading a jagged crag above their heads. Pillars dig into the stone, carved from its very body. Down the center of the room, a pale moonstone table stretches the length of the room. Heaped on it's top are fat bowls of fruits and cooked vegetables, platters of exotic meat ranging from venison of the great stags of the Northen Rift to the humble tenders of Silt Striders.

The room smells heavenly and there are many faces lining the tables, laughing and chatting over their meals, some people mingling in the corners of the room, full goblets in their hands. Konahrik shakes her head and motions for Marcus to follow her through the throng of people, her heart racing as she steps through to the entrance hall. Rahgot stands off to the side, hissing at a flustered servant while he cradles his mask in his hand. When he sees Konahrik, he glares, forcing his mask back onto his face, secured with his gold-laden headress.

That little moment only increases her maddening joy. The power to anger a high ranking Dragon Priest, it makes her blush.

When she steps out into the snow, her heart flutters and she looks like a proud parent surveying the ever-growing city she governs. Then, she remembers Marcus and peers down at him. She's a good head taller than him.

"Marcus," he hums and slowly closes the scroll he had opened while she day dreamed. ""Why did you come to me? I know it was not for idle chat."

He stares at her for a minute then stuffs his scroll into his satchel. "Yes, that," he coughed into the side of his hand, now hesitant. "Lord Paarthunax wished to speak to you..."

Konahrik froze, staring at him for so long, he was afraid he broke her. But, she finally looked away, fingers flexing at her sides.

"I've been waiting for this..."

Was it too late to admit she was afraid of her Lord Alduin's brother? Probably so...

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><p>Pulling the cowl and mask from her face, Lorolei is mildly surprised to see the cart and horses scattered outside her small, developing village. She shakes her hair free and narrows her eyes slightly, grip on her spear tightening as she approaches the village; the horses snort and shuffle as she passes, but she pays this behavior no mind. Horses have never really liked her and the feeling was mutual.<p>

Several of her kin are gathered around the entrance of the Hall, murmurs causing a light buzz to fill the air. The workers still hammering at the building glare at those gathered in agitation. The whispers die as she approaches, shrugging off the load of fish she had been catching into the arms of a familiar face; the crowd slowly disperses as she closes the door behind her.

In the center of the room is a large, U shaped table flanked with the faces of the local healer, blacksmith, shamin and an advisor from some larger settlement up North. Her mother and father are seated behind the curve, shoulders tense as they eye the man with his back to them. He leans back on the desk, watching the maid pull her coat from her shoulders; she grows increasingly uncomfortable as he eyes the light Stahlrim armor she wears.

He is unfamiliar, in face. But the power simply_ pulsing _off of him is enough to confirm her suspicions.

Miraak.

His lips twitch as she bows slightly. "Father," she begins as she straightens her back. "What is this?"

Miraak raises a hand and twirls it, successfully silencing any words her father would speak. When he speaks, his deep voice sounds so bored.

"Our lord, Alduin, has requested your presence at Bromunjaar. His inner council is waiting with much anticipation for our arrival."

It feels like the air has been sntched from her lungs. Her knees wobble but she doesn't give out, just swallows. "I will gather my things..."

Before she can turn however, he chuckles lightly. "I am afraid we will have to send for them later. We are already behind schedule."

She nods, knowing their is no refusing the order. A Dragon Priest, he has more power and talent in the stitching of his robes than she does in her pinkie toe. An order is given, you obey, no complaining.

She doesn't get the chance to say goodbye to her parents because a guard in leather armor escorts her from the building. Miraak grabs his mask from where it was laid on the edge of the table and gives her parents a slight bob of the head before following the guard; when the door closes, her mother cries, her father doesn't move. The whole town watches her be escorted to the cart in silence, even the dogs are quiet. The horses snort and patter again but are stopped from their worrying by their handlers gripping their reigns.

Lorolei tenses as she feels a hand on her hip, mildly amusing Miraak as he steadies her while she climbs into the cart. Once they are both seated, the driver unties the horses from the trees and begins to steer them down the cliff side; Lorolei picks at her fingers while Miraak shuffles rolls of documents from a deer-hide satchel.

After moments of agonizing silence, she is bumped in the shoulder and looks up, seeing a ring pinched between Miraak's gloved fingers. It is composed of three golden hoops with red gems molded to each seperate hoops. She takes it without needing to be told and pulls off her gloves, sliding it onto the ring finger of her right hand.

"It is the Ring of the Beast. Wear it at all times," Miraak instructed; she glanced down and saw him slide a similiar ring on his same finger, only the gems were green. "Each council member has their own, they are made of Blood Magic."

Her skin bristles; she licks her lips, flexing her fingers. "This means..." she is a part of Alduin, The World Eater's, Council. She licks her lips again and folds her hands in her lap. "I'm not coming home...am I?"

He is silent for a long moment. "No."

She refuses to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Decpticon-silverstreak: **__I'm glad you're enjoying the story:) __**Nyanti: 1) **__Looove that name. __**2) **__There will certaintly be more! __**3) **__I was genuinely surprised by the lack of interest in the Dragon Cult in this fandom but ya know, good for me:)_

**_Note:_**_ I am going to include a fan theory that the Dwemer were indeed around when the Dragon Cult was in full bloom, however briefely. Looking for opinions on if I should keep them or not, they won't be a huge part of the story._

**_(!):_**_ Ignore spelling mistakes, I didn't have time to proofread!:)_

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><p>A cacophany of sharp pangs. The air is filled with the tunes of labor, the pursuit of security. Two short, pudgy, men in robes point up at a worker dangling in front of a large, stone, structure. He uses his feet to work the piping into place, swinging far out as he does so. When he is finished, he loosens his grip and slides down to the dirt, sending a flurry of dust into the air around him.<p>

Almost finished.

The two men in robes nod, almost in unison, then begin to walk towards the large open doors to their joined study. Trying to build a vault was tedious work. Having to survey the productivity, the gentle inserting of spheres into their correct chambers. The Centurion had proved to be most ornery, freezing before it could step into its locks, but all ended well and the last bit of work should be finished by sun down.

The chamber rumbled and the men froze, looking at each other before they tumbled into each other, loud, pained, roar made the cavern shake again. Guards rushed in, protecting the men. Workers hurried to safety in the open doors of the vault.

Another quake and scream cut through the air as a large, flailing, mass of scales and wings came ripping through the large opening above their heads. The dragon screamed, trying to catch wind, but it gave one final cry before landed in a heap in the center of the courtyard. The few trees around it tremble, one fell, crashing down on its tail but no noise was uttered. An archway lay collapsed beneath it, a possible worker with it.

The cavern was quiet save for the rush of water from the stream and echo of wind through the rocks. The two men in robes pushed aside their guards, who were too stunned to protest their safety, and warily approached the dead dragon.

Frost breath curled between its teeth, its scales fresh and white. It must have been from Dragontooth Crater, but what could have drove it to cross through these mountains? The men ran their stubby fingers along the edges of gouge marks in the dragons neck, brows furrowing. What could have done that? Not even a mammoths tusks could make a mark on their scales, let alone leave these kinds of injuries.

The men looked up, the one on the right side of the dragons neck spat something in twisted tongues, filling the air with even more dread.

They would have to call in a Priest.

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><p>Bromunjaar was a city <em>alive.<em>

Under the crisp, clear sky, people moved about their daily lives. More men and women, very little children. Children caused distractions, Bromunjaar was not a city of re productivity, it was a grand city of active worship and organized military action. It was where the Dragon Court convened ever three months to plan events, takeovers and generally give review over the governing districts. Business. That was what Bromunjaar was about, but there were also basic needs to see to. Plenty of market stalls that sold the usuals: fruits, vegetables, meat, etc.

The most visited stall was Hibaali's Weapons.

Hibaali was a former priest of Mara, now taken to selling all kinds of weapons, even the occasional Daedric. Konahrik had her Daedric dagger on her at all times, tucked into a holster under her right arm. The weapons were always sharp and definitely menacing. She adored the weapon, even had it enchanted with frost magic.

Konahrik smiled as she passed the row of stalls that flanked her on either side, chin held high and almost arrogant as she set her eyes on her destination. At the far end of the city, to the South, were large steps leading under high, twisted arches that crested over a large, natural gorge in the mountain. As she passed under the guarded wall into Bromunjaar and then under the last two arches, she felt a cold shift in the air.

She paused and then turned on her heel, craning her neck up to the arch she had just crossed under. At its tip, sat Paarthurnax. His lean, ashen, body was curled around the spire, tail wagging slowly as his claws dug into stone. A forked tongue, long and thick, slid between his teeth, raked over a blood maw; had she the courage to look around, she would have seen several bodies crumpled and mangled, both of animals and humans.

She blinked, and Paarthurnax snarled, shooting like an ice bolt from his spire. Konahrik dove forward, rolling out of the way and drawing her sword while he coiled his body, tail flicking like his black tongue in front of his.

"You are wise not to trust me," he rumbled, staying tightly coiled.

Konahrik let loose a small tremble then swiftly sheathed her blade, bowing as Paarthurnax languidly climbed onto the rocks at her left. She looked up into bright copper eyes, so alike his brother Alduin's.

"You requested an audience with me," Konahrik spoke slow, she did not wish to upset him.

The dragons chest rumbled. "Yes," his voice, so slow, it made her sleepy. "I wish for you to travel to the Dwemer city of Arkngthamz," when she raised an eyebrow, he grew amused. "Word has been sent that a fallen Dov came crashing through their kingdom. You are to find what caused this young Dov's demise and report back."

"Am I to go alone?"

Paarthurnax hummed. "Miraak will be waiting for you at the city."

Konahrik's brow furrowed. "Miraak?"

"Yes," there was a growl to his throat. "Be gone!"

Konahrik bowed, her chest fluttering as she took the steps two at a time. The vendors watched as she trotted past, not speaking because the guards were sure to punish for gossip.

The doors were pulled open to the stables as she barked orders, grabbing the reigns of a horse with dusty, copper fur. As she slung herself up onto the beasts back, it snorted and whickered, shuffling in nervousness as a stable hand buckled her normal travel pack onto the saddle.

As she and the two escorts behind her took to the path down the mountain, Konahrik couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't heard of Miraaks arrival in Skyrim. She was the head of the court for the past seven years, she should have known two days ahead of time. An odd thought struck her as she reared back on the reigns, ripping her sword to hand as an Ice Wraith danced in front her . Could Miraak have snuck into Skyrim? If so, why? But then she thought of the banquet, how he should be arriving anyway, but it still struck her as odd.

"M'Lady," a guard trotted to her side but she was more focused on the Ice Wraith combusting in front of her. "Lord Vokun approaches."

That caught her attention and Konahrik looked up, seeing the flowing robes and the practical squad of horsed assassins trailing behind him. His men wore ebony armor, all glimmering with shock enchantments. The horses were white in color, all obeying their riders perfectly.

Vokun always had to make an entrance.

He stopped his horse in front of her, possibly glaring behind his mask. "Konahrik," his voice hissed.

"Vokun," she purred. "Rahgot beat you this time, you know?"

"Damn Rahgot," he quipped. "Where are you headed off to? Being Paarthurnax's errand girl, again?"

In a flash, he had the tip of her sword a hairs breath from his throat. He raised his chin, feeling the chill of the sword against tender breath. Her usually angelic, sculpted, face was twisted into a snarl that could rival any dragons.

"It would be wise to not speak so familiarly about Lord Paarthurnax," she growled.

He paused and then nodded, she sheathed her sword. With an angry flick of the wrist, he scuttled out of her way, looking back briefely to see the dark aura that settled on her shoulders as she gallopped in the opposite direction.

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><p>Lorolei was not an easy person to amaze.<p>

Solstheim held so many wonders and secrets she had already explored. But Skyrim had managed to turn her into an eight year old again.

Miraak took her right hand firmly in his, leading her down the wobbly ramp to the moderately safe bricks of the dock. He let her hand go and was approached by a tall female Bosmer that cast a quick, malicious, glance at Lorolei. The Skaal woman hesitated, turning her back to Miraak and the hateful woman. On the other side of the swiftly moving dump-out into the ocean, there was a gathering of people carving their way up the mountainside. Lorolei furrowed her brow but didn't say anything about it.

No one cared about her words. Not now, at least.

"Lorolei," that deep, resonating, voice cut through her day-dreaming; she looked back at him, seeing the Bosmer gone. "They have a cart prepared for us. We must go through the city, stay close," he smirked.

She didn't want to think there was something else going on in his head. but the smirk and bump of his hip she received almost made her smile. Almost. She was still petrified, mostly because of the guards.

They were intimidating, sure to be made that way. They wore masks that appeared to be made of iron and the holes for there eyes revealed similarly colored bright blue irises surrounded by a dusting of coal. Their armor was heavy-looking, sharp edges and points coming from their shoulders and hips, sharp points on their gauntlets.

She didn't even want to acknowledge the large swords on their backs.

The city of Windhelm was magnificent, black stone blocks dusted with snow. Lit braziers were scattered around the streets as they wound their way towards the large bronze front doors. People watched as they passed but none spoke, some children pointed and giggled; Lorolei could have sworn she heard Miraaks name murmured somewhere being them.

The bridge was slippery with ice and Lorolei blushed when she had to hold onto Miraak as she slipped down the last step to the stables. The guards hissed like protective mothers but Miraak chuckled, nudging her forward. He thought this was funny?

Lorolei was seated to Miraak's left as he sat at the head of the covered cart, looking over documents pulled from his satchel. She cringed, thinking again of her slip up at the bridge. Lorolei was never one to embarrass herself like that, she usually had supperb control over her body, especially on ice. It was odd, but she tried to shake it off.

"Your nerves are aching," Miraak hummed.

Lorolei looked up, hesitant. "Why have I been called?"

Miraak looked over at her from under his brow. "I don't know," he chirped. He unrolled another scroll, tsking at the words in front of him. "Lord Alduin requested that I escort you back to Bromunjaar since I was already studying the Stones around the island."

Lorolei nodded then looked out the front of the cart, seeing the salt flats huffing out steam into the air. She wished she could explore right now, but no. She was being heavily guarded in an escort to Bromunjaar, to an unknown fate.

To Alduin, the World Eater.

She refused to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Sorry its been so long guys, I update with my phone and couldn't afford to pay it for January so ya know. Also, for the wait, you get this early(ish) update.**_

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><p>Konahrik was truly envious of the Dwemer and their advancements.<p>

She had never seen another civilization be able to produce such fascinating and amazing works from steam and stone. There were two Dwarven Spheres guarding the front door when Konahrik and her men approached. They tied their horses to the metal posts at the bottom of the stone steps leading to the door. She and her men walked slowly, her hand on her sword, her other hand raised so her men would not copy her own hand.

"Your masters were expecting us," she addressed them.

The spheres hissed and turned, rolling towards the doors. Konahrik closed her hand and took her other from her weapon, following the automatons. The large doors opened and the spheres rolled forward, Konahrik following, her men wary. Her steps were heavy, ringing with power and as they reached the end of the entrance hall, the spheres closed up into their balls, rolling back towards the entrance.

The cavern they walked into was huge, echoing just like her palace under Bromunjaar. Across a large gap, there was a ledge with carved stone, several figures shuffling around their stalls. A market. Konahrik turned right, jogging up the steps there. As they crossed the small bridge leading to the market stalls, she looked down at the water rushing beneath them through the mountain, saw an open vent where Dwarven spiders were working away to repair something bent and broken, or maybe they were just finishing it.

"You arrived later than expected," a man approached them, a rare male Dwarf without a beard.

"There were complications involving a saber cat and a few Death Hounds," she bowed gently. "Otherwise, we would have been here earlier than originally planned. Now, though I am a guest in your home, I must insist that you take me to my dragon. Immediately. I was also informed my priest Miraak was already here."

The dwarf nodded. "Yes, he is already with the dragon now."

Konahrik muttered a curse, brushing past the dwarf and walking towards earth-made bridges. "I swear to the Gods," she hissed, flicking her wrist. Before her lit a stream of teal, directing her towards her destination. "If he did anything with my dragons soul, I am going to gut him and hang him from the gates of the city."

"Preferably not our city, ma'am."

Konahrik snarled and the dwarf nodded once, turning around and heading back towards the stalls. She didn't even spare a glance back to see where he was going. Though, she probably should have. She closed her palm and the trail of light dispersed, her traipse across the earth bridges through. Her eyes darted around the darkly lit hole they walked through. It was empty. Odd. She thought the Dwarves tried to use as much space as they had.

"This is genuinely beautiful," she muttered, pausing at an open space.

Light streamed in through an open hole in the ceiling, trees grew into the cliffs around her, their roots dangling in reach, swaying and…dare she say grasping for something. She breathed in the scent of pine and rocks, water. She never liked being underground, she liked fresh air and the skies above her. How the Dwemer were able to stand this kind of living space, she could never understand.

They passed under a long, narrow, path with rotting logs and more dangling roots. Tree limbs stretched above their heads, tightly joined with rare openings to let light in. The air was thick and humid, but she hadn't broken out in a sweat yet. She wished she still had her Stahlrim armor, she wouldn't even feel the slightest rise in temperature.

"By the Eight," she whispered, stopping at the head of a slope into a larger cavern.

Trees were scattered around the open space, light coming from a giant hole in the wide, dome shaped, ceiling. There was a large wall of stone with Dwarven faces carved into it, the traditional bronze metal the Dwemers used decorating the wall with tonal locks and barred gates. The light streamed in, hitting the running stream just right to send rainbows in some directions.

She would call it beautiful were it not for the Frost Dragon lying in a crumpled heap in the middle of the room. Her breath caught in her throat and Konahrik ran down the slope, her armor clanging and creaking, her head shaking persistently in denial. No, no how did this happen? She came to a stop near the dragons head, reaching down with trembling fingers to run her hands flat against the dragons gaping maw. The teeth were jagged and there were thick, stringy, pieces of bloody meat stuck between its teeth; three of them were broken, freshly broken.

"Gouge marks in the throat, stomach and one on its back," Miraak stepped from around the dragons back feet, writing something down on a roll of parchment strapped across a wooden board. "Hello Konahrik."

Konahrik shook her head, stomping towards him with thick steps. He looked up just as she stopped in front of him; a smirk played on his lips. She narrowed her eyes and let out a sharp growl, reeling her right hand back and landing a slap across the side of his face. His head jerked to the side, a line from her gauntlets on his face.

"You son of a bitch," she spat, pushing him back. "You don't talk to me in months, don't even write and _this _is how I find out you're in Skyrim? Are you fucking kidding me?"

Miraak didn't look at her right away, just stood there for a long moment, head still to the side. Konahrik shook her head and then looked back at her escorts, growling at them and pointing to the Dwarves watching from the top of the slope. They nodded and turned on their heels, approaching them with fast steps. The Dwarves protested mildly but did as instructed, moving out of the chamber.

When she looked back at Miraak, he took a swift step forward and pressed his lips firmly against hers. She squeaked and pushed up to her toes, even when he pulled away, a smug smile on his face. She narrowed her eyes at him, a blush forming on her cheeks. She cleared her throat, bracing her right hand against her back as she placed her left hand against the dragon's belly.

"What uh…what do you think happened?"

He chuckled darkly and she heard him shuffle the parchment around; he had tucked it under of his arms. "From the looks of it…another dragon. There is nothing _but _a dragon that could do this much damage to a Frost Dragons scales. There is nothing else that could do this much damage to any dragons scales."

Konahriks brow furrowed. "But…why would dragons attack one another, it doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe one went rogue," Miraak offered. "Perhaps a disease? If we had the man power or the permission to retrieve the body from this caverns, I would gladly do that but the Dwarves are not allowing this and we must respect their wishes."

"Plus, they could start a war we aren't prepared for," she muttered then sighed, rubbing her brow. "Fine…fine, you can have the soul. I can arrange for some slave workers to retrieve the bones later."

She looked back at him, saw him grin and then she rolled her eyes. He passed off the parchment and wood to her and she took it, taking a few steps back as he approached the dead dragon. Something in his eyes flashed and they glowed in different hues of red, blue and green. She looked to the dragon, saw the burning inferno taking over its body. She looked away, turning her back completely.

She couldn't see that, couldn't see the dragons she loved being inhaled by a human. Couldn't see such a powerful creature brought to this burning, charged mass of bones left with singed sinew and flesh clinging to its former master. She couldn't stand it, but Miraak she had some level of tolerance for. What she didn't believe was that Alduin willingly gave him permission to take the souls of deceased dragons. Usually it were those felled in battle or those too old to continue serving in Alduins army.

A hand touched her shoulder and she looked back, closing her eyes when he cupped the side of her face. He stroked her cheek, smiling weakly, apologetically. "I am sorry," he muttered. "I know how it bothers you, Lorolei."

She shook her head. "No…no don't apologize. Go back to being that hardass, snarky bastard I know and…" she paused, swallowed. "Let's wrap up this report. I hate to have such inconclusive findings on a young dragon's death. He will _not _be pleased."

Miraak shook his head and let her go just as two dwarves in violet robes came from an open archway across the opposite side of the chamber. "I will speak with him then."

Konahrik shook her head, ready to protest but she was interrupted by one of the two Dwarves. "M'Lady," he bowed. "War Lord, we must know what the state of this complication is in."

She straightened her back, took in a breath and passed Miraak his board and parchment. "No conclusive findings but we have basics, Miraak has dealt with the bulk of the clean up. We will send slave workers and guards to collect the bones for burial within the next day. No protests, please. I am sorry to have inconvenienced you all with this."

The dwarf shook his head. "No, we are sorry that you have lost one of your own so young. We do hope you sort this out in due time."

Konahrik smiled gently. "Thank you sir, and we hope you prosper as you have so far. Once the bones are collected, we will be out of your hair."

The dwarf smiled, his companion not so cheerful. They each bowed, Miraak too consumed in his paper work to deal with them. When Konahrik drew his attention, he decided to follow her and her men back to Bromunjaar. And she couldn't admit that idea made her insides turn.

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><p>She is awoken to a large crack and a horses distressed cries.<p>

She rolls out of her bedroll with a pounding heart, stumbling to her feet and approaching the wide flaps of the tent. Miraak had put her in one to match his, a grandiose tent with lit sconces outside. But now the sconces were tipped and there as churned up dirt around her tent. She hugged her night dress closer to her body, screaming as a horse barreled past her.

Men circled the camp, laughing as they pierced the armor of one of the guards. He fell to the ground, clutching at his bleeding chest. Lorolei's eyes widened in fear as the bandits eyes turned to her, a sick grin coming across one of their faces. She turned and ran in the opposite direction, running into one of the guards. He grunted and clumsily tried to catch her but an arrow caught him in the shoulder and she screamed, pushing him out of the way.

She skidded to a stop as a large, black horse ran into her path, a bandit on its back. The horse reared back and she ducked under its belly, hurrying towards…she didn't really have a destination. She just needed to get out of here but after that, she didn't know. Couldn't think of it. She was scared. There were bandits and blood and bodies everywhere.

Lorolei was scared.

"Lorolei!"

She was grabbed by the upper arm and pulled against a rough side. She looked up with panicked eyes to meet Miraak's golden mask. It resembled any other Priests mask but the edges were ringed in small points and there were fierce red lines sprouting from the eye sockets. She watched as he flicked his wrist and a stream of ice shot from his palm, freezing two of the bandits where they stood.

She could feel his heart beating in his chest.

He took a hold of her hand and began to run, pulling her towards the tree. Two rows in, he paused, grabbing her up by the hips and lifting her up. She didn't understand what to do until she noticed the limb above her head. She took a hold of it, using his help to scramble onto the limb. She clung to the trunk with trembling arms, staring down at him through the tears.

He pulled his mask from his face, looking at her with glowing eyes. "I _promise _that I will be back for you, Lorolei."

She hesitated but then nodded, her head bob fierce. "I-I trust you to…"

He nodded once and slid the mask back onto his face, charging back into the massive raid. From where she was sitting, Lorolei could see the practical army of bandits and doubted he would be back for her.


End file.
